my fall from grace occurred gradually and by and large, without incident. i can’t point to one specific event.

Actually, now that I think about it, there may have been one incident. i think the year was 2000. i seem to remember breaking a kitchen plate with the remains of a candle stuck to it, slamming it against a tree and tossing the shards into the Mississippi River from a levee in New Orleans.

It was late at night, pitch black. there were ghostly chants of some kind in the distant woods… and drumming, too. i was overcome by panic and ran out of there as fast as my feet would carry me (not very fast).

When I returned to the kitchen, I tried to brush it off. It felt comforting, as if order was restored. A mere hour later, I was perplexed when i noticed that one plate was missing from the dish rack. I thought someone must have broken into my home.

And i never gave it another thought until now. I guess that’s why I don’t live there anymore.